


Spider's Venom

by FlyingButtress



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Sick Harry, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 11:01:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21319111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingButtress/pseuds/FlyingButtress
Summary: Harry needs a cure for his sickness, and he thinks Spiderman is the key. Peter is afraid of what that might do to his old friend and decides to come up with an alternative. They find the solution together, in a way neither of them expected, with a little help from Peter's dad.
Relationships: Harry Osborn/Peter Parker
Comments: 11
Kudos: 110





	Spider's Venom

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Saving Harry](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21278534) by [Golden_Werecat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Golden_Werecat/pseuds/Golden_Werecat). 

> This is what happens when old friends binge movies together. No apologies.  
Be warned: Superhero science ahead. (It's basically magic, let's face it.)

Peter sat down on the couch in Harry’s office while Harry paced irately back and forth.

“I’m dying, Peter,” his old friend stated, his voice cracking with strain. It was obvious he was telling the truth, with the way his eyes were sunken in, how his hands constantly shook, and other small signs like the light in his bright eyes fading. “But there’s a way to save me,” he continued on insistently, now turning to Peter and swallowing nervously.

Harry’s nervous tension was starting to make Peter nervous, too. “What is it?” he asked, sitting forward in his seat, full of concern for Harry.

Those blue-green eyes focused on Peter, tearing into his soul the way they’d always been able to since they were kids, more serious and grave and _desperate_ than Peter had ever seen them. “I need Spiderman’s blood.”

The first thing that crossed Peter’s mind was, “Of course, anything to save you,” before it really occurred to him what Harry had said. Cold shot through Peter and he gaped at Harry as the Osborn heir went back to pacing frantically.

“I know it sounds crazy, but our dads were working on a cure, right?” he started explaining, passing back and forth in front of Peter without looking at him. “They were trying to find a cure for Dad, and they made a spider that was supposed to fix him, fix us, but they stopped before they got to human testing. My thinking is that Spiderman was bitten by those spiders before Oscorp destroyed them.” Harry stopped and looked at Peter again. He sunk onto the other side of the couch, sweating slightly, and Peter couldn’t tell if it was his nerves or his illness that made him do so, but he could see how badly Harry’s hands were starting to shake. “I need his blood to fix me, Peter.”

“Wait, Harry, _wait_,” Peter said, holding his hand out to make Harry stop. Peter took a shaky breath, unable to look at Harry for a moment. But he couldn’t help himself as he turned, reaching out to grab one of Harry’s shaking hands and try to steady it. “Don’t you remember what happened the last time someone played that game? It’s too dangerous, it could kill you, or drive you completely insane!”

“I’m already dying, Peter, what more harm would it be?” Harry replied, snatching his hand away and standing again. He couldn’t stay still, starting his pacing again.

Peter stood and blocked Harry from continuing, grabbing his shoulders carefully. When Harry looked up to him, there was a hurt look there, like Peter’s warning was the same as his rejection to help, which wasn’t true. Peter wanted to save Harry and was willing to do anything to help, but he wouldn’t sit by and watch Harry harm himself. Peter helped people, that’s what he did, that’s what he intended to do with Harry, especially with Harry. Peter’s fingers tightened around Harry’s slimmer shoulders at the thought. “What happened to Connors is not what you want to happen to you, Harry. Please think about this.”

“What is there to think about?” Harry shouted, his voice rising in volume and desperation. Peter swore he could see something breaking in Harry’s eyes and all he wanted to do was hold him together, but now was not the time. “I can’t end up like my father, dying like a mutated freak because of my genetics!” Harry’s eyes changed, turning a dark blue. Peter thought it had been his imagination from when he was a kid, but with such a blatant change right in front of his face, he was almost gaping. What kept him from it were the next words from Harry’s mouth, and the stunted horror in those eyes. “You weren’t there, Pete, you didn’t see what he’d turned into, what I’m going to turn into. I _can’t_ be that. I just _can’t_.” Harry tried to turn away, tried to pull from Peter’s grip, but Peter was strong and Harry sick, so he only managed to turn his head away in shame.

“Harry, please,” Peter murmured, taking a step closer so they were uncomfortably close. But they were friends, and Peter was full of concern for him and he wasn’t afraid to show it. When Harry didn’t look back at him, Peter dug his fingers into Harry’s shoulders, and he found himself falling into dark blue eyes whirling with emotions. “Please, just give it some time, look for some other way. There _has_ to be another way.” Peter couldn’t stand the way Harry was looking at him, so hopelessly, so pained, so he pulled him into his arms and held him tight, feeling Harry’s nose press into his collarbone. He was wearing his suit under his clothes, but that didn’t matter to him then. Harry needed him, needed Peter, not Spiderman. “We’ll find it.”

Cold, shaking hands crawled their way up Peter’s back and latched onto his shirt, curling tight into the cotton and squeezing weakly. Harry’s nose pressed more firmly into Peter’s collarbone and he could feel a strong shiver go through his friend’s body. “There isn’t another way,” Harry said, his voice quiet, hurt.

“Then we’ll make one, huh?” Peter insisted, not daring to let Harry fall into such a detrimental state of mind. “We’ll make one that works, not just poison that makes you worse. They stopped working on it years ago, but now, things have advanced and there are brilliant people working here who understand more about genetics than we’ve known about for decades. We could do it. Don’t they always talk about how great our generation is going to be?”

“Peter, you’re an idiot,” Harry said, the words mumbled into his chest. “I don’t have that kind of time.”

“Then have faith, huh?” Peter turned his mouth into the side of Harry’s head, feeling the nearly fever-like warmth on his temple. “You have to try. No one wins if they take the easy way out.”

“Ever the optimist, Parker,” Harry said, but his voice was lighter.

“And you’re a pessimist. We balance each other out.” Peter smiled shallowly. “I thought that’s why we were friends.”

Harry’s arms tightened around Peter, nearly squeezing the breath out of his chest, and then his smaller body shook and Peter was able to decipher the sound of a choked laugh near his ear. “Fine,” he said roughly, pulling back from the hug and putting his hands on Peter’s chest to put space between them. Sharp eyes that were a lighter mix of green and blue again looked up at him. “I’ve let you convince me, but my death is on your hands now, Peter Parker, and I hope you choke on the guilt when I die.”

“I won’t let you die, Harry,” he said, in all seriousness. It was probably a stupid thing to say, because really, he didn’t have the capabilities or the background needed to save Harry, but he never wanted to see what would happen to Harry if he started carelessly injecting himself. And as he lifted a hand to move Harry’s bangs off his forehead, running his fingertips lightly over Harry’s pale, feverish forehead in the process, an idea occurred to him. He had his father’s things, maybe there had been something he’d missed in them, or in the briefcase. Maybe his father could help save Harry’s life, but he had to go now to see. Harry was on a timer, and the person who knew that the most was Harry himself.

For a moment, though, Harry’s eyes fluttered shut and Peter’s breath caught in his throat at the near-translucency of the lids. He wanted to run a finger over them and see if he could feel the iris underneath, but the thought passed quickly and Harry’s eyes opened again. “I really missed you, Peter,” Harry said, voice small and almost child-like.

“Yeah, Hare, I missed you, too,” he said, suddenly reluctant to leave, but he knew he had to, for Harry. “Listen, I’m going to head out now, but I want you to keep in touch, okay? If you find anything that could help, or if there’s anything I can do, just tell me.”

A regretful look crossed Harry’s face, soon hardened into nothing a moment later, but Peter had seen that look before enough times that he recognized it for what it was. Harry didn’t want him to leave, but rather than asking him to stay, he would just let Peter walk away. “I will.” He stepped fully away from Peter and turned to look out the windows of his office. “Same goes for you.”

“Of course,” he said effortlessly. “Take it easy, though, Harry. Don’t push yourself too much.”

“I’m dying, Peter,” Harry replied tartly. “If I don’t push, I won’t get any results.”

“Just, don’t overdo it and speed up the process, numbskull,” Peter muttered, but Harry didn’t say anything to him, staring out the window with his arms crossed. There was a slight shiver of his shoulders, like he was cold. With reluctance, Peter turned and left, wanting nothing more than to heal Harry as fast as possible, without turning him into some kind of maniacal, blood-thirsty supervillain.

It was kind of hard to think of anything else.

* * *

Peter found the Roosevelt when, in frustration, he threw his father’s calculator. Aunt May had told him his father was a traitor and a liar, and it had been hard to swallow, but the fact remained that Richard Parker with still a bioengineer for Oscorp. For a while, Peter had debated on what to do, flipping the tokens around in the palm of his hands, looking at his phone on the end of his bed.

He decided on going there first, exploring, before he told Harry. If it was nothing, Peter was worried Harry would nosedive back into the “Spiderman’s blood” plan. If there was something to it, he’d get in contact with Harry immediately.

All things considered, it turned out to be a pretty major something.

Getting directions to Harry was a bit harder than he thought. Peter went back to one of the working stations to get reliable phone service. It took some convincing, but he finally met Harry there and led him carefully through the tunnels. He was trying not to act like Harry was made of glass, knowing it would only anger his sensitive friend, but he was looking more and more like he would break at any bump or misstep, face growing gaunter, eyes getting darker, the sores growing and appearing.

Once he finally did get Harry there, releasing him into the bioengineer’s secret workshop was like letting a kid loose in a candy shop. The only thing that distracted him was watching the video Richard had left behind. They both watched it in complete silence, Peter for the second time, and when it was finished—cutting off after young Peter interrupted—Harry stared at the screen without moving. Peter watched him, afraid they were going to have an argument and get distracted from helping Harry, but then Harry turned large, open green eyes onto Peter and stated without any argument, “You’re Spiderman.”

For a moment, there was nothing Peter could do but look into those green eyes, searching for anger, betrayal, _shock_. All he saw was calculation and shadows. He nodded, nervously looking away from Harry’s eyes until the Osborn heir turned back towards the computer with a fiery determination.

“Well, let’s get started, see if we can find anything.” Just like that, they were focused and driven.

* * *

There was nothing, nothing at all in that car, and it was crushing. Peter could feel it like a weight or a third person there with them, but he refused to give up. It was a Parker and an Osborn that started this, it seemed right that another Parker and Osborn would finish it. Saving Harry was all Peter could think of, and he refused to let Harry slide down the slope his friend was tripping over, figuratively holding Harry up by the back of his jacket with all the strength he could muster.

Despite Peter’s determined optimism, Richard Parker had not left enough information behind to save Harry’s life, only a warning that anyone who didn’t have his DNA would suffer terrible consequences if they came into contact with the spider venom.

Sitting at the desk on the only chair, Harry’s shoulders shook with violent tremors, a sight Peter stared at from his spot on the floor of the subway car instead of skimming the useless reports he was holding. Everything in him was pushing him towards Harry, but without a solution, there was nothing Peter could do, nothing either of them could do. And it was those thoughts that made their next conversation so difficult.

“Peter,” Harry said, his voice broken and dejected. It was like a knife in Peter’s gut just to hear it. “There’s nothing here,” he pointed out. But Peter had already known that, after the first hour that passed. “Please. Your blood—”

“Harry, _no_,” Peter said, trying to be as firm and gentle as he could. He could see Harry’s back stiffen, could almost hear the indignation at Peter’s rejection on the face he couldn’t see that no doubt had hair over his eyes. “If there’s one thing these notes have made clear, it’s that my blood is not going to help you.”

“_I have nothing else!_” Harry shouted, jumping up from the stool and flipping towards Peter so fast, he couldn’t stay on his feet and staggered to the side. Without a thought, Peter surged forward and caught his falling friend easily, helping stabilize him, but Harry merely threw Peter’s hands off angrily. He paced down the car away from Peter, then paced straight back. “There could be a chance,” he said more calmly, shaking his head, avoiding Peter’s eyes.

“You know there isn’t, not with how these things were made,” Peter said, pressing a hand to his own chest, to the spider that was there beneath his shirt. “It was made strictly for my own DNA, and it was complete chance that I was bitten. But, maybe if we create more spiders and use your—”

“I won’t live long enough,” Harry stated bitterly, turning his trembling back to Peter again. He crossed his arms over his chest and pressed a hand over his mouth. “But I can’t die like Dad.” He slowly turned back towards Peter, the expression on his face already dead with resignation. “If you won’t give me your blood, then at least help me die with dignity.”

Horror punched a hole through Peter’s chest and he backed himself into the corner of the car. “No, please,” he begged, already knowing it wouldn’t take much for Harry to guilt Peter into doing it.

Emotion flooded back to Harry’s face, a crisp, icy anger. He threw his arms out to his sides and stated coldly, “You said there’d be a way to save me, but there’s nothing here.”

Peter felt sick and cold. He crossed his arms over his stomach and thought desperately for some solution, _any_ solution. “There has to be some—”

“There’s _nothing_!” Harry shouted, the sound of his voice echoing all around them and out in the abandoned subway station. “Nothing!”

Sinking to his knees, Peter shook his head and held his hands out in front of him. “Harry, I don’t want to lose you,” he pleaded, feeling hot tears falling down his face. “Please.”

The light in Harry’s eyes faded and he also sank to the floor, his entire body trembling with fear and self-loathing. “I don’t want to die, Peter,” he said, the anger gone, now replaced by broken sorrow. “Please, I just don’t want to die.” Sobs tore through his weak body, each one like a bullet to Peter.

Crawling forward, Peter grabbed Harry and pulled him close, turning them both so he could force Harry to press his face into Peter’s shirt, tears soaking through the fabric and into the suit he wore underneath. Peter used his powerful arms to wrap Harry as tight as he could, feeling his own tears soaking into Harry’s hair, unable to stop them as they sat together on the dusty subway car floor, surrounded by useless and outdated equipment.

Out of complete chance, Peter spotted a bottle of scotch on the ground beneath the desk, half-finished and tucked behind a box of old notes. He waited until Harry was no longer sobbing, and reached for it, disturbing his friend long enough to sit up and take notice of the bottle. Harry immediately reached for the bottle, grabbing the dusty glass neck before Peter was completely back, and had the top off, drinking from it like it was water.

“Whoa, Harry,” Peter said, pulling the bottle away after he’d had several mouthfuls.

“God, Peter, I’m dying, just let me,” Harry said, his voice breaking. Peter studied Harry’s face for a moment, feeling strong strokes of regret and pain going through him at the sight of the shadows across Harry’s young features. When Harry reached for the bottle, Peter turned it away long enough to take his own swig of the alcohol, choking it down before passing the bottle back.

Wiping the back of his mouth and feeling the lingering burn, Peter watched Harry guzzling more without a flinch or any other reaction, like he was already desensitized to it. He could already feel the warmth spreading through him from the drink, knew that probably in a matter of minutes, he’d be wasted, despite his faster metabolism. They had been there for a long time, neither of them feeling hunger enough to leave. He grabbed the bottle, almost forcefully prying it from Harry, and drank more, thinking the more he drank, the less would be in Harry.

The bottle was already near to the end and Peter was pretty much as gone as it was. He let Harry take the bottle back to drain the rest for the last taste, watched from a growing bubble as Harry tossed the empty bottle carelessly aside and started rooting through the backs of drawers and desks, in all the nooks and crannies for more. As he pulled another bottle from the other side of the car, this one full and untouched, the last of Peter’s remaining inhibitions sent out dying flares.

“Maybe we should head home,” he said, not quite slurring just yet, but knew he’d be totally soaked through his bones on the scotch if Harry opened the bottle.

Harry hesitated, looking up from the vintage and brand to stare at Peter with wide eyes, his pink lips parted in shock. “I can’t be alone right now,” he stated, voice small and rough and absolutely honest. Peter’s chest lurched and he reached out for his friend, hand clamping down onto a cool wrist. He took a moment to watch the goosebumps spread across Harry’s exposed skin, then pulled him across the car and straight into Peter’s lap.

Clutching the bottle between them, Harry followed Peter’s insistent hand, falling right onto his lap and moving his head to allow Peter to nuzzle at his neck. “I don’t want you to be alone right now,” Peter murmured, blinking growing too difficult, so he allowed his eyes to shut as he felt along Harry’s neck and jaw with his nose. Harry’s breathing hitched and he moved the forgotten bottle away, dropping it to the floor so he could wrap his arms around Peter’s neck. He was sitting sideways on Peter’s legs and decided it wasn’t comfortable enough so he shifted to straddle the lap.

Almost positively drunk now, Peter pressed his numb lips to Harry’s skin, tasting the skin with his tongue after a little while, getting high from his friend’s scent. Peter could feel Harry’s hands burying in his hair, alternating between running through it and gripping it painfully, pushing and pulling Peter’s head wherever he wanted it. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or not, but he thought he heard Harry whispering his name over and over again. Peter was too absorbed in mapping out Harry’s throat and jaw and earlobes and neck and collarbones with his mouth to double check.

He wasn’t sure when it happened, but at some point they had started grinding their hips together, Peter’s hips moving in strong, round circles, Harry’s small but insistent. At a moment where Peter gasped and pressed up hard, Harry tilted his head down and suddenly Peter’s entire world filled with solely Harry and his kiss. He felt Harry’s cool heat swirling around him, smelled and tasted the alcohol and the musk and the sick humanness of his body, heard the suppressed gasps and the hypnotic rustling of their clothes as they ground together, saw flashes of eyes and skin and the backs of his own eyelids. Both of Harry’s hands were buried in his hair, large fistfuls helping to force their heads together as firmly as possible, mouths and tongues desperate.

Peter could barely stand it, he was so hard and wanted nothing more than to take Harry’s pain away. He started shoving at Harry’s jacket, trying to force it off of his arms, which dislodged Harry’s hands from his hair with a painful jerk. Quickly getting with the program, the Osborn heir broke the kiss and started undoing the buttons of his shirt with shaking hands, biting his lips as he tried to concentrate long enough to get the buttons through the holes. Peter occupied himself with watching and tugging his own shirt off. It took him a moment to realize he wasn’t shirtless underneath, but grabbed the shirt of his suit and also tore it over his head, throwing it carelessly behind him with his other shirt before he couldn’t stand it any longer and grabbed Harry’s head again.

Allowing himself to be pulled back into the kiss, Harry lost track of losing his shirt, so Peter picked it up, tugging a little too roughly on the buttons, popping a few by the sound of the buttons rolling on the hard floor behind him somewhere, but neither of them cared as the shirt was thrown off. They had to break their kiss again, only long enough to get the undershirt off.

The skin-on-skin felt strange to Peter and his altered senses. He ran his hands up and down Harry’s sides, making the other shiver uncontrollably before wrapping his arms around Harry’s lower back and pulling them flush. Harry gasped into their kiss, and let out a soft moan, rolling his hips slightly and clawing Peter’s back. The nails raking his skin and the sound of Harry’s moan drove Peter wild and before he knew what he was doing, he flipped them so Harry was lying on the dusty floor, eyes shut, mouth open wide in pleasure as their erections rubbed together at the movement. Peter had to stop and stare at the sight of a debauched Harry, savoring the flushed look on his pale face and the way his bangs were flipped back. There was a small scar under the hair that Harry hid, a scar that had been there for as long as Peter had known him that Harry had never explained but was just as much a part of who Harry was to Peter as the way his nostrils flared when he was breathing deeply or the way his lips quivered when he wanted to say something but had no words for it.

Peter’s arousal multiplied and he threw himself down over Harry, slamming their hips together as he boxed Harry in against the floor with arms either side of his head and crushed those quivering, pink lips. Harry’s nails dug into Peter’s back and he moaned loudly, rocking up into Peter’s hips and locking his legs around him. He was sure for a while there they would be getting off just like that, rocking and grinding and gasping together, but when Peter moved his mouth to follow the line of Harry’s long neck down to where it met his thin shoulders, close enough to the end himself that he thought any second he’d fall over the precipice, Harry gasped out the most fatal words that nearly had Peter careening.

“Want you, Pete,” Harry breathlessly voiced, gasping again when Peter’s teeth clamped down on his skin and his entire body locked over Harry’s in an effort not to blow his top off right then. The nails dragging harshly over his skin both helped and hindered his struggle, but after a moment, he’d gathered himself enough to calm down and speak between pressing open-mouthed kisses to Harry’s mostly flawless skin.

“No lube or condoms,” he murmured helplessly, wrapping Harry’s hair in one of his hands and using it as a gentle hold to pull his head to the side.

He mouthed around Harry’s ear, making the other hiss sharply, before he responded, “’Ve got the lube, fuck the condom. I’m clean and you’re not dying.” He then dragged one of his hands down Peter’s side and arched his hips up straight into Peter’s, reaching into his back pocket while also grinding against Peter’s dangerously-close cock.

Helplessly, Peter pressed down against him, following close when Harry dropped his hips again. “Should I ask?” he gasped, pulling back enough to give Harry a somewhat critical look. “I feel like I should.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry threw his arm over the back of Peter’s neck and crashed their lips together again. It was another few heated seconds before they were forced apart for oxygen. “Don’t ask,” Harry replied and started working on Peter’s pants.

With their concentration shifted, Peter pulled off of Harry, backing up onto his knees to help undo the front of his pants before shifting his attention to Harry’s pants and getting them off completely. He undid the button and zipper of the expensive jeans and grabbed the waistband and boxer-briefs before pulling them down with more force than strictly necessary, sending Harry’s fancy shoes flying. He was then momentarily distracted by having a completely naked, slightly sore-pocked but still brilliantly perfect Harry Osborn lying below him before a delicately tentative hand was on his cock, pulling it out of his boxers and Spiderman suit pants and stroking it with more confidence than he’d been expecting.

“Stop, I’m too close,” he breathed, pulling Harry’s hand off him before moving enough to yank his much cheaper jeans, suit pants, boxers and shoes off in one go. He didn’t miss that Harry had to cover his flushed face with a hand, gasping between his fingers as he grabbed and held the base of his leaking cock with his other hand while Peter hovered over him. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Harry,” Peter couldn’t stop himself from saying, and Harry moaned, hips stuttering a little.

Knowing they didn’t have much time, Peter grabbed the lube from where Harry dropped it and shifted in the awkwardly tight space to lift Harry’s leg and set it on his shoulder. He’d gotten “the talk” from both Aunt May and Uncle Ben—made exceedingly more awkward when he’d admitted to being into girls and guys, and they’d tried to be as supportive as possible by going into all sides of that talk—as well as the liberal sex-ed from school, so he knew the basics, he’d just never done it with a guy before. That didn’t mean he was unwilling to try, especially to please Harry, it just meant he’d be learning on the go.

Peter spread lube generously on his fingers and glanced at Harry again. The other was still pressing his hand over his face and holding the base of his prick desperately. It was really a sight Peter would never be able to forget. He reached forward and circled the bud of Harry’s ass, relaxing it before he entered a finger at a time, spending several unbearable minutes making sure Harry was prepared enough so it would hurt the least. He didn’t waste too much time, knowing he was driving Harry mad with teasing and struggling to keep it together himself.

“Just fuck me,” Harry demanded after some time and his hips stuttered again, the ring tightening temptingly around Peter’s fingers. Harry flexed his leg over Peter’s shoulder, pulling him slightly closer. Peter was already pulling his fingers out and lubing himself up, more than eager to give Harry what he wanted.

The first breach was nearly more than Peter could take and he had to stop long enough to pull himself from the edge, though Harry was quickly getting impatient again. Peter pressed all the way in and waited for Harry to adjust and start to rock his own hips against Peter’s, and then he completely lost himself.

Harry was tight, vice-like, and quivering. The engulfing heat was almost unbearable, but Peter somehow managed. When he noticed that Harry was still covering his face, he used the hand not holding Harry’s leg up and snatched it away, locking their fingers together and pressing Harry’s hand into the floor by his head as he rocked again and again into Harry. Without his face covered, Peter could see the way Harry’s mouth gaped soundlessly, could hear perfectly the hitching in the back of his throat every time Peter completed a thrust. He could see the dark lust burning in Harry’s lidded eyes and met them with his own as he moved Harry’s leg higher.

It was Harry who lifted his other leg to Peter’s shoulder and locked ankles behind Peter’s head. With the change of the angle, Peter was going in deeper and by the sudden litany of moans and gasps, was hitting Harry’s prostate.

Their connected hands tightened hard around each other and while Harry started moving his hand over himself, alternating between biting his lip and gaping his mouth open, Peter held onto Harry’s leg like it was the only thing keeping him in the world. He gasped out, “Close,” unsure if he even managed to make it a word until Harry gave a responding nod of his head and suddenly arched up into Peter’s thrusting body and opened his green eyes wide, staring unseeing above them.

Peter didn’t even have any warning when Harry contracted around him and his climax was ripped out of him violently. He completely lost himself, whiting out in pure, almost painful pleasure for what felt like hours, before he came back to reality with a sudden rush and had to catch himself before falling onto and crushing _Harry fucking Osborn_.

The Osborn heir was panting heavily, just as much as Peter was, and sweating, some strands of hair sticking to his forehead, though his flushed skin looked a little sickly. Before Peter could feel bad about taking advantage of his sick friend, Harry’s eyes snapped open and he shook his clean hand free from Peter’s, wrapped it tight in the hair on the back of Peter’s head, and roughly pulled their mouths together again.

Lazily, they kissed like this, filthy, lying on the floor of a subway car, still connected though it was getting uncomfortable. Peter realized if there was anywhere else he could be at that moment, he would have given it all up for this, pressing Harry Osborn down into the floor of a dirty, abandoned subway car, sweaty skin sticking together with the help of extra substances, making Harry forget about his illness. Peter used his free hand stroke through Harry’s sweaty hair as they kissed.

They both squirmed uncomfortably when Peter pulled out, but he needed to let Harry’s legs rest, and so laid down beside him and continued to pepper his face and neck and chest with light kisses as they slowly gained their breath back and lost the flushed look of their skin and their sweat dried.

Peter wasn’t even sure that there was still alcohol in his system after that, but he did feel buzzed and more content than he thought he should be. He watched as Harry dozed lightly, tucked with his head on Peter’s arm, his pink lips parted and his breaths soft, though they did smell like old scotch. He couldn’t even bring himself to care as he stroked Harry’s soft hair gently, relishing the way their legs tangled together.

It seemed as though Harry had a little more color in his cheeks already, he wasn’t as gaunt or pale. Peter didn’t know if it was the sex or the alcohol, or even the sleep, but he was happy to see it, even if it would just be temporary.

* * *

They might have been down there for over a day for all they knew. Neither of them had checked the time and weren’t really bothered to check. Peter didn’t know when he fell asleep, but he enjoyed waking up to Harry blinking sleepily at him, their lips sticking together slightly when they shared a brief, tacky kiss.

The fact that Harry didn’t say any derogatory or negative comments about himself or their situation felt like a step up from where they’d been before, and Peter was dreading going back to that place. He wanted to hold onto this lazy, content Harry for as long as he could, shielding him from his sickness, from his pessimism and his unhappiness.

And Harry seemed perfectly content with resting on Peter’s arm, tangling their socked feet together more, and sharing body heat. Peter let his hand move slowly up and down Harry’s thin sides, sending goosebumps in the wake of his touch and enjoying the changing texture of the skin before Harry broke their silence.

“I feel,” he began, then hesitated. He swallowed thickly, probably dehydrated after being down in the subway all day and maybe night with no food or drink except the scotch. “I feel different, strange.” His blue-green eyes searched Peter’s, like he expected Peter to say the same thing, but Peter didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Good strange or bad strange?” he asked, his voice sounding a lot deeper than he was used to. And because he could, he pulled Harry’s head closer to him and brushed his lips across the slightly cooled temple he found there. It seemed as though the fever he’d been sporting was gone, which made Peter feel a lot better about their circumstances.

“I don’t know,” Harry murmured thoughtfully, smiling a little when Peter kissed his temple. “I think it’s good, but I’m not really sure what’s different.” He looked up into Peter’s eyes again, and this time Peter noticed they did seem brighter, the shadows around them lighter, his skin was staying a healthier color than deathly pale. Peter sat up suddenly, surprising Harry and knocking his head a little by removing his arm as a cushion. Harry sat up, too, though he let Peter hover over him. “What? What is it?”

Without saying anything, Peter reached out, searching for the sores Harry had been suffering from on his neck and body, but all his hands found were smooth, unblemished patches of skin. “Harry,” he whispered, forgetting what his next words were supposed to be when Harry suddenly sat bolt upright and started feeling his own neck and body, searching all over himself for the sores before he turned a bright, wide-eyed look of surprise to him.

“How?” he asked, trembling slightly in shock and joy. His eyes desperately searched around them for the cause of his relief, before focusing back on Peter with sudden understanding. “It was you.”

Confused and concerned Harry was accusing him of withholding information on how to make him better, Peter shook his head, putting distance between them. “No, I swear, I didn’t do anything,” he said, but before he could continue giving pathetic excuses, Harry was throwing himself into Peter’s arms and they were kissing again, Harry a lot more passionate and Peter still terribly confused but reluctantly enjoying it.

Harry broke the kiss and rested his forehead on Peter’s, staring into his eyes with sudden adoration Peter hadn’t seen since they were really little. It filled Peter with a giddy joy, sharing in Harry’s own joy and relief. “It wasn’t your blood that I needed,” Harry murmured, an explanation Peter realized after a moment.

Still a little confused, Peter asked, “Then what did you need?” He only asked because he was tired and dehydrated and hungry and relieved. And he had an armful of an enthusiastic Harry Osborn, who was starting to grin like Peter was an idiot. “No, seriously, what? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Snickering, a sound Peter knew he hadn’t heard since Harry was 9, Harry threw his arms around Peter and clung to him, pressing their naked, still-messy bodies together and snuggling against him. “I just needed the spider’s venom,” he said, and then started laughing so hard that Peter had to struggle to keep them both upright while also laughing himself. He still didn’t really get it, but Harry was so happy, so lively, and the laughter was so infectious, he couldn’t stop himself, nor could he help himself when Harry grabbed handfuls of his hair again and started kissing him. Peter’s hips stuttered forward, his young, hormone-filled body raring to go with no qualms.

Harry’s laughter quickly turned to a gasping moan, and Peter knew that Harry was right behind him. He shifted Harry’s legs to straddle him again and searched for the lube while being occupied by Harry’s demanding tongue in his mouth.

Well, things could have gone a lot better for the two of them, but if this was how they were going to continue living together, Peter wasn’t going to—wait.

Breaking away from Harry’s mouth, Peter stared quizzically at his old friend and new lover for a moment. “Wait,” he said out loud, feeling his brow furrowing as he looked back and forth between Harry’s amused eyes. “Are you saying my jizz cured you?”

**Author's Note:**

> Please practice safe sex, use condoms. Don't drink until you're legal, even if your dad gives you a bottle of Scotch as a birthday gift. Sharing is caring: friends don't let friends inject themselves with serum alone without extensively talking about the pros and cons.


End file.
